delight of war.

XXV.

And as a mountain torrent leaves its bed,
And seaward sweeps the toils of men in spate,
Or as a forest-fire, that overhead
Burns in the boughs, a thing insatiate,
So raged the fierce Achilles in his hate;
And Xanthus, angry for his Trojans slain,
Brake forth, while fire and wind made desolate
What war and wave had spared upon the plain.

XXVI.

Now through the fume and vapour of the smoke
Between the wind's voice and the water's cry,
The battle shouting of the Trojans broke,
And reached the Ilian walls confusedly,
But over soon the folk that watch'd might spy
Thin broken bands that fled, avoiding death,
Yet many a man beneath the spear must die,
Ere by the sacred gateway they drew breath.

XXVII.

And as when fire doth on a forest fall
And hot winds bear it raging in its flight,
And beechen boughs, and pines are ruin'd all,
So raged Achilles' anger in that fight;
And many an empty car, with none to smite
The madden'd horses, o'er the bridge of war
Was wildly whirled, and many a maid's delight
That day to the red wolves was dearer far.

* * * * *

XXVIII.

Some Muse that loved not Troy hath done thee wrong,
Homer! who whisper'd thee that Hector fled
Thrice round the sacred walls he kept so long;
Nay, when he saw his people vanquished
Alone he stood for Troy; alone he sped
One moment, to the struggle of the spear,
And, by the Gods deserted, fell and bled,
A warrior stainless of reproach and fear.

XXIX.

Then all the people from the battlement
Beheld what dreadful things Achilles wrought,
For on the body his revenge he spent,
The anger of the high Gods heeding nought,
To whom was Hector dearest, while he fought,
Of all the Trojan men that were their joy,
But now no more their favour might be bought
By savour of his hecatombs in Troy.

XXX.

So for twelve days rejoiced the Argive host,
And now Patroclus hath to Hades won,
But Hector naked lay, and still his ghost
Must wail where waters of Cocytus run;
Till Priam did what no man born hath done,
Who dared to pass among the Argive bands,
And clasp'd the knees of him that slew his son,
And kiss'd his awful homicidal hands.

XXXI.

At such a price was Hector's body sent
To Ilios, where the women wail'd him shrill;
And Helen's sorrow brake into lament
As bursts a lake the barriers of a hill,
For lost, lost, lost was that one friend who s